


Dent

by SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [57]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May 1998: Turnbull does some research (of a sort), and Ray gets the gift of it without realizing where it came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dent

The connection was painfully slow, but he persisted.  Feeling extraordinarily out of place amongst quite a few teenagers and the occasional elderly man or woman, he kept searching through the advertisements, trying to narrow it down.  In his right hand was a pencil, and he jotted down the prospects without really having to look away from the screen -- neat, clean shorthand, expertly developed over the course of long hours of paperwork and message taking.

This was, at the least, a somewhat more gratifying use of his skills.

The cyber cafe he used to use on Madison had been closed down six months prior; it had been convenient, right on the bus line, no transfers required.  Most of what he'd done there was check his e-mail; he was the member of several mailing-lists, including two for Tracy Jenkins, one for recipes, one for uplifting anecdotes (occasionally, they even succeeded in being uplifting) and one for his art group, where they often coordinated where to meet and what to do once a month.  He'd left the group when he left for Leaside, but he was still on that list.

Now, he was parked in the library.  The connection was slower, but needs must.

Turnbull wasn't checking his mail today.  He hadn't bothered to check it, in fact, for the past three weeks.  He was looking for something specific, and he didn't want to waste any time on the library's computer -- there was an hour limit, he was only able to get here on his days off, and that specific he was searching for wasn't easily found.

He had just finally found exactly what he was looking for when the librarian came over. "Young man?  Time's up."

Turnbull looked up, trying to keep the wince off of his face to some degree of success. "I-- would it be possible to have five more minutes, ma'am?  I've finally found what I had been searching for, and I don't believe I would be able to duplicate the pattern of my search at a later time; also, there may be some measure of timeliness involved with this particular piece of information..."

She stared at him for a moment, and slowly he trailed off.  Winced again, though more openly.

She glanced at the door where there were a few teenagers waiting for a computer, then looked back at him. "All right.  Five minutes."

The teenagers looked less than pleased.  Turnbull thought he should, at least, apologize on his way out.  He flicked his look back to the screen, and then quickly started writing out the information.  This was indeed the best prospect he had found thus far, and once he went home, he would cross-check with the others just to be absolutely certain.

It gave him a pleasant little glow; when he left, he held the writing pad to his chest like his stetson, offered a sincere apology to the teenagers (who looked considerably more polite as they looked up at him) and went out to catch the bus for his apartment.

 

 

His desk still looked like a bomb hit it.  And Ray still didn't care all that much.  He just plunked down in his seat and looked for a long moment at his inbox, stacked with files.  There were only two in his outbox -- open and shut cases, too.

It figured that a month after being put back on the road, he still couldn't seem to get his head in the game.  He'd been away from it for so long that going back out on the road made him feel lost all over again; some major piece of his life returned, and all he could do was stare at it and wonder when it stopped feeling right.

He knew the answer.  He wished knowing that answer was enough to fix it, but it wasn't.

He dragged the top file down when a piece of paper fluttered off of it to land on the floor.  Ray snatched it up and set it aside; probably just a note from Welsh to choose a new partner soon.  The Lieutenant had been putting some gentle pressure on him to open himself to the idea, and Ray resisted with all he had.  He didn't want any more partners.  He just didn't.  For a lot of reasons, and some of which he could even see, clear as day.  Pathetic ones.

Ray didn't even realize he'd had his eyes resting against his palms, until he heard Frannie's voice raise in irritation across the room and looked up.  She was apparently having a spirited discussion with a caller about lingerie.  Heh.  It made him smirk a little.

He looked down at his desk again.

His heart hit his throat.

The note that had fluttered to the ground was written in black pen.  And it wasn't actually a note.  It was information about a 1972 Buick Riviera, for sale in Philadelphia, PA.  64,550 original miles.  Red and white.  A dent in the fender.  Runs good.  $2500 or best offer.  The address and phone number and owner's name was underneath it.

The writing was neat, but Ray didn't recognize it.  He looked around the precinct, trying to guess which one of them had left the note there, but no one was looking his way.  None of the glances that came when someone wanted to leave a gift and see the reaction.

His hand was trembling a little when he set the paper back down on his desk, staring at it for awhile.  Trying to figure out how he felt about it.

But finally, at the end of his shift, he made the call.


End file.
